Francesca's Party (33 page)

‘Funny? What do you mean?’ Nikki asked lightly as they closed the door behind them.

‘I don’t know. Abrasive. Brittle,’ he grumbled.

‘Really? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Nikki jabbed her finger on the lift button. There were several people in it when the doors swished open and she and Mark stood in silence.

‘I thought Mamma Mia’s would be nice,’ she said as they hurried through the foyer and down the marble steps.

He made a face. ‘It’s very quiet and I don’t want a big banquet.’

‘No starters, just a main course then. I want to go somewhere quiet. I want to talk to you.’

‘About what?’

‘About us,’ Nikki said firmly.

‘About us!’ Mark looked startled. ‘I hope you’re not going to give me grief, Nikki. I’m having a tough day. We’re going to have to pay a fortune in tax thanks to these bloody tribunals. It’s going to make a hell of a dent in our profits.’

Nikki’s lips tightened. He was doing it again. She said nothing as they crossed Stephen’s Green in the direction of Baggot Street.

Ten minutes later, they were seated at a quiet table in Mamma Mia’s and had ordered a Caesar salad each.

‘What’s wrong with you, Nikki? What’s this all about?’ Mark said grumpily as he took a gulp of beer.

‘It’s about you doing all the taking and giving nothing back, Mark,’ Nikki said quietly. ‘And I’m getting sick of it.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ He raised his eyes to heaven in exasperation. ‘Do we have to have this discussion
today
? Your timing, like all women’s, is lousy.’

‘There! You’re doing it again, Mark. This is not about you, this is about me,’ Nikki hissed. ‘Just like last night. You told me all about your bummer of a day. You never once asked me how I’d got on or what my day was like. Aren’t you interested, Mark?’ she demanded.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m interested,’ he snapped.

‘Well, why didn’t you ask, then?’

‘Nikki, I was
tired
,’ he explained with feigned patience.

‘So was
I
,’ she retorted. ‘I’d had just as bad a day as you had, but you didn’t even have the courtesy to ask.’

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he growled. ‘I’ll ask about your day in future.’

‘Mark, why are you with me?’ she asked quietly.

‘For crying out loud, Nikki, do we have to have this conversation
here
?’ Mark rasped.

‘Here’s as good as anywhere, Mark. Why are you with me?’

‘Because I want to be with you,’ he retorted.

‘Well, I think that if Francesca hadn’t found out about us we would still be having an affair and you’d still be living with her,’ Nikki pointed out calmly. ‘And sometimes I feel that you’re with me out of convenience.’

‘Nikki, that’s not fair!’ expostulated Mark.

‘That’s the way I feel,’ she repeated.

He bristled. ‘Well, don’t feel like that, because it’s not true.’

‘Then try and make an effort to acknowledge my feelings and give me some emotional support because right now I’m not happy with the way our relationship is going,’ she said coldly. She sat back to allow the waiter to place her meal in front of her.

They ate in silence.

‘Do you want coffee?’ Mark asked when she pushed her plate away.

She shook her head. ‘No. I have to get back, I’m up to my eyes.’

‘You go on then. I’ll have a coffee and pay the bill. I’ll see you tonight,’ he said offhandedly, not looking her in the eye.

‘Fine,’ she said tightly and walked out of the restaurant with her head held high.

Bastard!
she swore silently as she strode down Baggot Street. He could go and sit in his damn cave and stay there for all she cared.

Mark sat frowning, drinking a mug of strong coffee. Was it something in the air? Was it a full moon?
Were
they suffering from dire PMT? He couldn’t figure it out. Both of them, Francesca
and
Nikki, like two viragos. And he was the one bearing the brunt of it.

What was wrong with Nikki? He was living with her, wasn’t he? It was unfair of her to say that he wasn’t interested. Generally – with a few exceptions such as last night – he always enquired about her work and he was genuinely interested because she was an interesting woman to talk to. He enjoyed talking to her. Surely she knew that. He was disappointed in her attitude. She seemed like a different Nikki to the woman he’d been enchanted with and fallen in love with. He’d very much liked her independent spirit and assured woman-of-the-world air. Mark sighed deeply as he pondered the change in her. If he was honest, one of the attractions had been that he’d felt she wouldn’t demand a lot of him because she seemed so self-sufficient. Big mistake, he thought ruefully.

What was it with women that they always needed to be told that they were loved? He could say it a dozen times a month and still it wouldn’t be enough. Why did they need this constant reassurance? They were a mystery to him. Sometimes he felt he’d be better off living on his own.

Would he have left Francesca for Nikki? Who knows? he thought dispiritedly. The decision had been made for him so there was no point in speculating about it. Why couldn’t Nikki be content with what they had? Why did she keep pushing for more?

Heavy-hearted, Mark finished his coffee and paid the bill. It had started to rain and he didn’t have his
coat
with him. That was all he needed, he thought self-pityingly as he trudged along Baggot Street towards Stephen’s Green. If yesterday had been a bummer of a day, today was just as bad and work was the last place he wanted to be. He might try and fit in a quick round of golf later, he needed a bit of relaxation badly with all the stress he was enduring lately.

The alarm shrilled, jolting Francesca to unwelcome wakefulness. She gazed at the clock askance. Five-forty-five a.m. What had she been thinking of to set her clock at that unearthly hour? And then she remembered she was taking that aura woman to TV3 for the breakfast show. She dragged herself out of bed yawning and blearily rubbing her eyes. Katherine Kronskey, her author, was overnighting at the Great Southern Hotel at the airport. She had to pick her up, take her to the TV studios and then on to RTE. She’d want to get a move on.

She made good time to the airport and at six-thirty-five was standing in the foyer of the hotel, curious to meet her new assignment. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Reading energies and auras seemed very way out. Maybe she was one of these earth mothery types in long flowing skirts wafting incense sticks around. She’d sounded fairly normal when Francesca had phoned her room to let her know that she was in the foyer. The reception was busy with guests on early-morning flights checking out, so Francesca moved over to the lifts to watch out for her charge.

The lift doors opened and two men and two
women
emerged. Couples, assumed Francesca, but the tall, elegant woman with the magnificent bone structure and the chic ash-blond bob moved away from the others and looked around her.

‘Katherine?’ Francesca asked hesitantly, thinking she couldn’t possibly be the aura woman.

She turned and smiled broadly and held out her hand. ‘Yes, I’m Katherine. And you must be Francesca?’ she said with a Bostonian twang. Her handshake was firm, her hazel eyes wide and friendly and Francesca felt a wave of relief. Memories of Magda were still relatively fresh in her mind. ‘I’m so sorry to get you up at this unearthly hour, but mind you, it’s much more civilized than the States. I’ve been out in studios at five a.m.,’ Katherine laughed.

‘Did you have breakfast?’ Francesca asked as she led the way to the car.

‘God no.’ Katherine shuddered. ‘Coffee was all I could manage at that hour.’

‘Oh!’ Francesca was surprised. She hadn’t imagined someone into healing and energy and all of that sort of stuff would drink coffee. Carrot juice, yes.

‘I do allow myself a cup of coffee in the morning. It’s one of my many weaknesses.’ Katherine’s eyes twinkled.

Francesca had the grace to blush. ‘Sorry. I just wasn’t sure what to expect. And I want to make sure that you’re comfortable and well looked after,’ she explained. ‘You’re only my second author and my first was a nightmare.’

‘Really? Tell me about them so I see how far I can go,’ Katherine said good-humouredly as she got into
the
car. Francesca gave her a witty account of Magda’s shenanigans as she took the M50 and accelerated up to seventy. Katherine laughed heartily. ‘I’ve a lot of leeway it seems,’ she joked and Francesca relaxed. Katherine Kronskey was nice, and normal.

Katherine studied her curiously. ‘So how come I’m only your second author?’

‘I’ve just started working with Ken Kennedy PR,’ Francesca explained as she overtook a juggernaut.

‘And what were you working at before this?’

‘I was a housewife,’ Francesca said drily.

‘In the States I’ve heard housewives described as CEOs of the home.’ Katherine smiled. ‘I was a housewife for twenty years before I started my present work.’

‘Really?’ Francesca was surprised. ‘How did you start?’

‘I got dumped by my husband, then got cancer, then tried to commit suicide and then had my road to Damascus experience and here I am!’ Katherine said cheerfully.

‘My God! And I thought I was bad,’ Francesca exclaimed, shocked and astonished that the other woman could talk about trying to commit suicide so lightly.

‘What happened to you?’

‘Oh, I got dumped by my husband too. Well, not exactly, I caught him with another woman and I dumped him,’ Francesca clarified.

‘And you’re still shattered,’ Katherine said sympathetically. ‘It’s tough.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Francesca agreed, waiting for the kindly
meant
advice on releasing anger and feeling the fear but doing it anyway and possibly the embracing-her-inner-child tip.

But Katherine made no reference to their conversation; instead she looked out of the car window and said, ‘Your beautiful countryside is balm to the spirit, I wish I could stay longer.’

‘You’ve a very tight schedule, I was reading it earlier on. Two interviews in London later this afternoon. How do you do it?’

Katherine laughed. ‘Francesca, at this stage in my career as a healer if I didn’t know how to conserve my energy I’d be pretty poor at my job. I meditate every morning and evening and I do self-healing. And I get the Graces I need,’ she said simply.

It was hard to believe that as radiant a woman as Katherine had suffered cancer and attempted suicide, Francesca reflected as she pulled into the TV studios. Later, as she watched her on the monitor, coiffed and made up, waiting for her interview to begin, Francesca could not but be impressed by her poise and serenity. The woman hadn’t one ounce of self-pity, Francesca thought, a little ashamed of herself for feeling such a ‘poor me’.

Remembering Janet’s advice to pay attention, in case something resonated with her, Francesca listened carefully. The interview was fascinating.

‘Our wounds don’t hurt the people who hurt us, they only hurt
ourselves
. If we hold on to negative energies instead of moving through the pain, griefs, rage and resentments within us, for whatever reasons, our bodies become toxic and we suffer disease. In other words, if our spirits are not
harmonious
our bodies will reflect that,’ Katherine said matter-of-factly and Francesca had the strangest sensation of a penny dropping.

She would have liked to get into a further discussion about the matter on the way to RTE, but felt too shy to bring up the subject, and besides the traffic was heavy – they were right in the middle of the morning rush hour – and the journey across the city took all her concentration.

Once they got to RTE, Katherine was whisked off to the studio as the PA announced airily that the programme’s running order had been changed and Katherine was on earlier than scheduled. In one way it was a relief. It meant Katherine wouldn’t be hanging around waiting to go on and she’d have time for a snack before Francesca took her back to the airport.

‘I enjoyed that interview,’ her author announced three-quarters of an hour later as they walked out to the car park. ‘He’s quirky and very intelligent.’

‘I like listening to Gerry Ryan, he’s very blunt but he empathizes,’ Francesca said, delighted with herself that her two interviews had gone smoothly this time. ‘Are you hungry, Katherine? Would you like to go for a quick bite to eat?’

‘I’m starving!’ the other woman admitted. ‘I could eat a horse.’

Not wishing to go through town as she wanted to take the East Link, Francesca decided on the Herbert Park Hotel, where they had a tasty snack before the journey to the airport. She really was enjoying this aspect of her job, she thought as she paid the bill and tucked the receipt into her wallet to go on her expense account.

Dealing with Katherine Kronskey had been a delight compared to poor Magda she reflected as she waited for the author to check in.

Katherine turned to her as they walked away from the check-in desk. ‘Thank you so much for taking such good care of me.’

‘It was a real pleasure,’ Francesca said warmly. Instinctively the two women embraced.

‘You know, you have to close the door yourself before the next one opens fully.’ Katherine smiled. ‘The old sayings are so true. The only thing to fear is fear itself. Conquer that and you’ve conquered the world. Goodbye, Francesca. If you were one of my patients I’d say to you: release, relax and let go and all will be well.’

‘I’ll try,’ Francesca promised.

‘I know you will,’ Katherine said encouragingly and with a wave and smile was striding towards her departure gate, a woman completely at ease with herself and the world.

Release, relax and let go. Release, relax and let go
. The mantra played in her head the whole way back to Clontarf. She intended to take the train back to the office. She parked in the Dart station and waited for the next train, reflecting on her morning. It had been eye-opening for sure, she acknowledged as she finally stepped into the carriage.

Let go, let go
. The wheels of the train clickety-clacking along the tracks seemed to urge her.
Let go, let go, let go
.